


Festival of the Golden Moon Harvest

by Amymel86



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Drabble, F/M, Jonsa Exchange, after the War for the Dawn, artwork, canon AU, sad but hopeful, short fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-15
Updated: 2017-12-15
Packaged: 2019-02-14 22:00:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 673
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13017018
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amymel86/pseuds/Amymel86
Summary: My gift for the Jonsa Gift Exchange.Small drabble and some artwork.





	Festival of the Golden Moon Harvest

**Author's Note:**

  * For [WendyNerd](https://archiveofourown.org/users/WendyNerd/gifts).



> I find painting extremely therapeutic, so had a go at a Sansa and Ghost illustration.

 

  


 

**_Here is my[@jonsaexchange](https://tmblr.co/mv4vOt_63qP6U7337hHFJsw) gift for [@wendynerdwrites](https://tmblr.co/mE4sHZwvaTuGd7hIANfRxwQ) - I hope you like it luv!_ **

Sansa won’t attended the Harvest Moon Festival. She won’t taste the fruits of the farmers labour, drink deep the wine from her cup or dance to the tunes of merriment, until her feet ache and her cheeks are rosy from exertion.

Sam thinks she is following a folly. He’d almost told her so once. It has been three years since the War for the Dawn, almost three years since spring returned to the North, and three years since anyone had last seen Jon Snow alive.

But Sansa knows. No one believes her,  _but she knows_. Jon is alive.  _He has to be_. Because when the moon is fat and beaming down on her like on this night - the night of the harvest moon, she  _feels_  it, she senses it in Ghost.

And so leaving the din of lords, ladies, crofters and handmaidens, all making merry within Winterfell’s walls, Sansa walks silently to the Godswood, with Ghost padding beside her.

When she’s finally seated by the heart tree, with Ghost sat beside her, the great beast turns to her suddenly, his eyes as red as Weirwood leaves. The wolf whimpers and whines. He stands and sits, and paces and pads.

“Shhh, shhh, it’s alright, it’s alright,” Sansa coos at the agitated animal before reaching out and holding its large face in her hands, forcing Ghost to stay still and listen to her.

“ _Jon_ ,” she says,  _pleads_ , “Jon, come back to me,  _please, come back_.” The wolf whines in its throat and brushes a large paw down her thigh. “We need you.... _I need you_.” Ghost lunges to lick at her face with a whimper making Sansa push him back so she can look into his eyes again. “I miss you  _so_  much...and I need to-,”

It’s no use, the light that was there in the wolf’s eyes has left him like leaves blown away on a spring breeze. Ghost is Ghost again, still and silent. Jon is gone.

Sansa let’s out a shaky breath and bows her head. She screws her eyes shut as her forehead presses against Ghost’s.

“You have a daughter,” she whispers.

* * *

Wandering. It’s all he remembers. Wandering - with or without purpose, he is not sure. Perhaps he knew once, why he had to keep moving, had to keep pressing on and on past lakes and trees, and stone and snow.

He’s not even sure how long it is he’s been wandering for. Day turns to night, turns to day again - he does not count them. He only lives. And wanders.

He doesn’t remember what came before it. There was a point in which he did not even know his own name. But now he knows. He knows because  _she_  told him. Jon.

She told him in one of his strange dreams - dreams that come without sleep, his dreams that come when the moon is at its fullest making him feel beastly and wild.

It’s at its fullest tonight, round and golden. He’s sure he will see her even though he does not know who she is, or why she beckons him. He yields to her siren’s song none-the-less, for she is all he knows - just her, and her sad song.

He will keep walking, keep plodding, keep stumbling, keep searching. He so dearly wants to hear her song lifted and no longer melancholy. He’ll find her, he’ll-

He makes it out of a copse of thick fir trees only to be confronted with a clearing. The other end of that clearing is like nothing he has ever seen - no lake or wood or abandoned village - but a wall, a colossal wall of ice, glimmering in the moonlight.

_I have to reach the other side,_  he thinks.  _She’s on the other side._

* * *

_**I ended up adding more colour to the illustration but didn’t like it as much as the b &w one above - anyway, below the cut is the one with colour, complete with a golden moon :-)** _

* * *

 

  


 

  



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